Page 7 of Brutal Heir
I drag my hand through my hair, glaring up at my cousin. It’s a view I’m not used to. I’m the older, taller one of the two of us and all our lives, he’s looked up to me. “I don’t know.”
“Have you been with a woman since—” His words fall away as everyone’s does when they refer to the incident that left me mangled beyond repair.
“Of course I have.”
He eyes me skeptically, and I don’t even know why I lied that time. Matteo is like a brother to me, but for some reason, I can’t bear to tell him the truth. He inches closer, slapping me on the good shoulder. “Okay, if you don’t want a gorgeous blonde to suck your dick between our five-course meal, I’m not going to force her on you.”
I almost choke on a laugh. A real one, one I haven’t felt in months.
“I appreciate the effort, Matty, but I’m more than capable of getting my own ass. Without having to pay for it.”
“Good. So does that mean you’re coming to the Velvet Vault with us tonight?” A hint of mischief sparks across those deep green eyes, the ones he shares with his mom, Aunt Maisy.
“I’ll think about it.”
CHAPTER 3
A PRIZED SHEEP
Rory
The pungent scent of McDonald’s greasy burgers and French fries fills the tiny apartment as I drag a fry across the blob of ketchup on my plate. As a born and bred Irish lass, it’s a good thing I don’t celebrate Thanksgiving, or this would really be a pitiful one.
No, I’m just glad to have a full belly today and this roof over my head. No matter how short-lived it ends up being. Anything is better than the halfway house I first landed in and the grisly memories it contains. The shared studio is barely bigger than a prison cell, and somehow it manages to feel even more claustrophobic.
The floor’s a patchwork of peeling laminate and ancient tile, the kind that’s permanently sticky no matter how many times you mop. Which is my job. As I take a big bite of the double cheeseburger, I stare out the one narrow window that faces a brick wall, its rusted fire escape rattling every time a rat the size of a cat scampers across it. Outside, the sirens never stop.
But it’s my home for now. Somewhere no one will ever find me.
“Thanks for dinner, Mack.” I tick my head at my roommate’s boyfriend who provided our lovely meal.
“Sure, no problem, Rorster.” He drags his hand through his faux hawk before it settles on Shelly’s leg under the table.
She shoots him an adoring glance, like the oily, artery-clogging food he brought was a five-course gourmet meal. Love really is blind.
I smile all the same, keeping my snarky comments to myself and grateful to have found a decent roommate with whom to share the small flat in the Lower East Side almost three months ago now. Despite Mack’s horrible new nickname for me. Since my move to Manhattan a year ago, I’ve been bouncing around from one temporary home to another. I’m hoping this will be my last move for a while.
Shelly lifts her gaze to mine, an unreadable expression gathering in her soft hazel eyes. “Um, we figured it would be nice to spend one last holiday together before—” She draws her bottom lip between her teeth, pausing.
“Before what?” I blurt.
“Oh, Mack, I knew today wasn’t the right time to tell her.” She wriggles in her seat, swiveling closer to his.
Her boyfriend’s hand appears from beneath the table to tangle with hers. “We’re really sorry, Rorster, but we’ve decided to take our relationship to the next level, so when the lease ends, Shelly’s moving in with me.”
“Well, shite.”
“I’m sorry,” Shelly singsongs over the hum of the crappy dying furnace.
“You’ve only been dating for a month. Don’t you think it’s a little quick?” I can’t help the question from popping out. Sure,Mack seems like a decent enough guy, but you never know what darkness lies beneath a pretty face.
My thoughts swirl back in time to a handsome boy I’d known my whole life. One who grew up to become a monster.
Blinking quickly to shove down the grisly memories, I focus on my soon-to-be ex-roommate and her boyfriend.
“When you know, you know.” A stupid smile curls her lips, and I actually feel sorry for her naivety. I only hope I’m wrong and it works out for them, but in my experience, there are no fairy tale endings, and love is a bunch of bollocks.
“Right, so when do I have to move out?”
